Fading Away
by OE
Summary: A collection of letters written by a lonely journybeast.
1. Letter 1

Letter 1: Tenth Day of the Autumn of the Fallen Leaf  
  
I_  
Dear Iran,  
  
Things are not going well along the journey. We have already encountered the Flitchaye. They took half of us, and probably fed on them...nasty cannibals.   
  
Might I add, in case you do not know, that we are headed north due to a change of plans. We have decided to see the ruins of Marshank, and perhaps establish a small colony or such there. Names have already been discussed in the much free time we have. We have decided upon "Marson".  
  
However, who knows if we will arrive there? There are many other threats, such as the Gawtrybe, recorded in Brome's descendant's story. I don't suppose there's any point in even writing you this letter, because we can't afford for anybody to leave back to the Abbey unless we all go. But I'll keep writing.  
  
It's well past night, and even though we've only be hiking for a week, the stars are already unfamiliar, and the moon hangs rather menacingly over us. It is a pale orange, and our group has taken this as a bad omen. I have always believed this is untrue, but perhaps it is. I will never know.  
  
Oh, how I dearly miss Redwall...I suppose I took it for granted all these years. The green habits seemed hulky and rather ugly, but now they seem beautiful (well, compared to the ripped shirt I'm wearing now). The red stones...the stained glass...oh, how I want to be home...  
  
Well, the leader of the journey is telling me that I need my rest instead of writing more letters. I suppose he's right.  
  
I'll write you soon, if not tomorrow. I dearly miss you, Iran.  
  
Your friend,  
Moralin_

/I


	2. Letter 2

Letter 2: Eleventh Day of the Autumn of the Fallen Leaf  
  
_  
I  
Dear Iran,  
  
Among other things, I have some good news, and some bad news. Bless your heart, lively thing you are, I'll give you the good news first.  
  
We have indeed been travelling the right way. We have finally spotted a known landmark - the Mountains of the North. Can you tell me the two that journeyed there? It is indeed Thrugg and Dumble who journeyed there, and we are following in their footsteps. It gives some of us a very chilling feeling, to be so close to a deceased Redwall hero.   
  
Anyways, the Mountains tell us that we are well on the right way. Just cross the Barren Lands, and we'll head on north to the Broadstream.   
  
Now for the other paw.  
  
I am very sorrowed. Today, one of my fellow journeymen came down with a slight fever. It was indeed the old cook Reynald. Bless his heart...as I'm writing this, a tear is running down my cheek.   
  
He never did anything that he should be guilty of, let alone be punished in such a horrid way for it. For after the fever took him, we stopped over the path and gave him a dipper of water. He seemed better, but after the sun passed over the high point, he took down again, and convulsed. It was much worse, indeed.   
  
For he simply...dropped dead. The entire group is shaken. First half the group is taken by Flitchaye, and now not only has a well-liked member of the group has been taken by this illness, but our morale is seriously dented due to the question of contagiousness.   
  
Perhaps it is true...  
  
Sadly,   
Moralin  
_

/I


	3. Letter 3

Letter 3: Twelfth Day of the Autumn of the Fallen Leaf  
  
I_  
Dear Iran,  
  
I have some very good news in this letter. The disease that struck poor Reynald is not contagious to the extent of our knowledge. We are joyful.  
  
We are much closer to the Mountains now. A black shadow passed over us last night, and I believe it is nothing, but one of our number swear that it was a black wraith, a deathseeker. I don't believe in such nonsense, but I didn't believe in the omens two nights ago, either.   
  
It had seemed this trip has been little but trouble and greviously bad luck. But the rays are breaking through the clouds and perhaps our journey will shine in the light.  
  
It is night, and the embers of our fire grow dimmer. There is only one other beast awake, and that is young Narran. He was beginning to remind me of you, Iran, with his love for life and happiness, but this trip seems to be hitting him hard. The death of poor old Reynald stuck him (not to say in the least it didn't strike me!), and as you might know, he was very close to the old fellow. I hope he turns out of this journey all right.  
  
The leader of our journey is suspecting that somebeast is following us. We stop to listen sometimes, upon his whim, it seems, to hear nothing. He will simply shake his head and concentrate upon something that nobody else is aware of. Perhaps he is sick, as well. That would be a stroke of bad luck.   
  
Our list of suspects, however, is quite large. It could be any one of the small forest groups, like the Flitchaye, or it could be a vermin, or even a simple predator. The worrying and nervousness has lowered our morale.  
  
But still we press on.  
  
Love from,  
Moralin  
_

/I


	4. Letter 4

Letter 4: Thirteenth Day of the Autumn of the Fallen Leaf  
  
_  
Dear Iran,  
  
More luck is on the way for us, so says Narran. He was up late last night, after I finished the letter. He says that the black shadow was a falcon! That means that it might be a descendant of...of...oh, bah. I can't remember for the life of me, but friends! Finally. A stroke of luck painted for us on the canvas of life.  
  
But there are different strokes, hastier ones, harder ones. The food is running low, as is the water. Hopefully we'll stumble upon a mountains spring, but what are the chances of that?  
  
None, I suppose. But we still cross our claws.  
  
The leader, young Brother Harrloh, has been getting queerer. A stick cracking makes him stop and shiver. I dearly hope he isn't sick, as do the rest of us. He's one of the few that know where we are going, and if he dies...who knows? Will we keep going, or turn back? It will be a true test of courage.   
  
It would be nice to see some life here in the mountains, besides the falcons. The silence only accentuates the cold and wind, which only confirms our fears of losing our way.   
  
Heading north, the weather is getting much colder and windier. Thank the fur that we brought our winter cloaks, but it is only fall! The leaves are falling from the trees, but they are just turning colors back home.   
  
Back home...oh, Redwall...perhaps the laterose is blooming...  
  
Longing for home,  
Moralin  
_


	5. Letter 5

Letter 5: Seventeenth Day of the Autumn of the Fallen Leaf  
  
_  
Dear Iran,  
  
Sorry for not writing sooner.  
  
I suppose you could say things are going well, if you aren't   
a nerve-stricken morale-less beast like me. We _did_ come across a spring, and filled our canteens with the fresh, cool water.  
  
But we forgot to boil it, and three beasts died - Grass, Treelimb, and Swoon. All three were young, lively, girls...that makes...24 that have died out of 41 beasts. Redwall will be stricken when we return.  
  
If we return, anyhow.  
  
Anyways, thank the fur that I didn't drink any. I was about the only one that didn't come down with the illness. We were stranded for three days, and my pack was tossed about and dug into for herbs. Ack. Luckily enough for me, I grabbed the four first letters to you before I lost it for those three days.  
  
It's night again, and so hazy that I can't see across the camp, let alone up the mountain. Of course, that's a stroke of luck on my part, since the clear sky shows the mountain looming over us. I can't wait to be clear of it, and into the Barren Lands.   
  
This journey is reaching me to my very heart, chiselling it to pieces. I can barely contain myself of the thought of returning home.  
  
Depressedly,  
Moralin_


	6. Letter 6

Letter 6: Eighteenth Day of the Autumn of the Fallen Leaf  
  
_  
Dear Iran,  
  
We're finally clear of those cursed mountains. I don't understand how McPhearsome could stand living and ruling upon them, or how Thrugg could be so brave as to breach its cliffs and crevasses to save the lives of so many Redwallers.   
  
The wind blows much more up north here, here in the Barren Lands, as I like to call them. It is nothing but bare plains, stretching beyond the eye's range. I like to think that I can see Boldred's Mountain, the landmark I know is there. I like to think that I can hear the rushing waters of the Broadstream, the river I know exists.  
  
But I cannot.  
  
Harrloh seems to be regaining some of his old lust for adventure and the journey seems to be stepping it up a bit, with higher morale and spirits. Hope has kindled again, kindled from its dwindling white ashes.  
  
But the curse of the Barren Lands is upon us..the lack of food. Being woodslanders, we are used to having food around every turn. But the plains are much different. I suppose we could eat the grass, but only if push comes to shove. We have some ration packs, but only enough for six days. We'll have to step our speed up a notch.  
  
I'll only bore you with one more paragraph.   
  
There seems to be some sign of life. Everybeast has seen the grass shuffle at least once, and I could've sorn I heard a mockingbird's call. But is it good life...or bad?  
  
Worrying,  
Moralin_


End file.
